Swiftknife
by amaranth-sundays
Summary: My angsty take on the fight during which most of the Court of the Rogue died. Marek Swiftknife-centric, apologies for my lack of imagination with regards to the title.


Marek Swiftknife's dagger danced in and out, and he spun to survey the scene before him, as his namesake's latest victim fell to the floor.

He paused for breath and, seeing Red Nell tumble with a knife in her chest and a pained look of shock on her face, leapt back into the fray. A well-placed kick sent a nameless ruffian staggering into Orem's grasp, long enough for Shem to dispatch him. Seizing the dead man's dagger as the brothers grinned at him, Marek turned to confront another pair of anonymous villains. Defending himself with both his own knife and the one he had just acquired, he dealt with the men speedily.

He ran to where Zia the Hedgewitch was circled by a group of attackers, and slashed his way through the men in time to take a knife meant for Zia in the ribs. Carrying on regardless, he heard a cry out behind him, and knew that it had been in vain.

_I'll grieve for you later, Zia,_ he thought grimly as his weapon flicked out to add a stripe of blood to an assassin's already bloodied face.

He battled his way across the room to where Lightfingers and Scholar fought back to back. As he waded in to help, an enemy knife licked a line of fire up his left thigh. His leg buckled, and he fell. Trying to get up, he stumbled again._ Get up, get up, get up,_ he growled fiercely at himself. _Your friends are dying, this is no time to be pathetic and whimper over a scratch, get up!_

He finally succeeded and, standing up, knifed a man about to stab Rispah in the back. _Good start to my not-being-pathetic plan _he thought with the dizzy hysteria of blood loss and battle fever.

Giving a war-like cry, Marek spun back into the fight, with energy he did not think he had. Having decided that economy was probably not the best policy to adopt with his new-found adrenaline, he fought quickly and efficiently. After the final assassin had fled rather than face his rapidly slashing knife, he took in the scene that met his eyes.

Rispah was the only one standing, and she was covered in blood.

"Marek! I think-I…check them, I think we…" Her voice gave out, but he had caught her meaning through the faltering words.

She thought they were the only ones left. He thought she might be right.

He moved through the carnage, checking the fallen quickly and professionally, unable to recognise the vastness of his grief.

Shem had tumbled on Orem, and both identical sets of eyes stared unseeingly.

Red Nell was dead, Zia was dead. Scholar, Lightfingers, the Peddler, and countless other followers of the Rogue lay lifelessly where they had fallen.

Hearing a choked sob, he turned, with an insane flare of hope, to see a slender, terrified figure curled up in the corner.

"Anci," he breathed, dropped to his knees. "Anci, sweetheart, are you hurt?" His lady stared at him through tear-drowned eyes.

"I didn't know there would be so much blood, I had to, Marek, I couldn't- I had to- I…"

"What are you talking about? It doesn't matter, it's alright, you're alright-"

"It was me," she sobbed. "I told- I told him where we- I had to, I had to, you, he, the Rogue's Law, I didn't want- you broke it and I didn't- I…"

Coldness drenched him.

His lover, his lady had sold them to Claw.

She saw the comprehension and the horror in his eyes as he staggered to his feet.

She clutched desperately at him, pleading brokenly.

"Marek, no, I had to, Marek, don't go, don't leave me in all this death, please, Marek, please, I-"

He looked, but could not see a trace of anything he had loved in the crazy, tear-blind face of his lady. Her turquoise eyes were huge and tear-filled against sugar-white skin, black lashes showed up on the sharp cheekbones, dark hair tangled down her back, but all her beauty was ruined for him.

He could be nothing but cruel.

"Don't leave you in the death you brought about?" he snapped, reeling with shock and blood loss. "I wish you joy of it."

"Please, Marek, you have to-"

"I said-"

"Marek! Ercole's alive, but he needs a healer if he's to stay that way, now!"

Rispah's voice rang with grief, but was clear nonetheless.

Wordlessly, Marek shook off his lady's wretched grasp and hurried to Ercole and Rispah.

When they left, he did not look back to see his lover weeping faithlessly among his fallen friends.


End file.
